


Oil and Fire

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Gen, M/M, Platonic fireside chat, it was supposed to be more shippy but I failed sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: Mustadio comes to join Marach by the fire.





	Oil and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Rarepairs were being discussed and Mustadio/Marach came up (which is less rare than I thought it was, but still pretty rare).

"Name yourself!"

Mustadio halted, squinting in the darkness and trying to make out the figure silhouetted by campfire at the edge of the little circle of tents. "It's just me," he said wearily. 

"I said name yourself, or end your journey with an arrow in your heart!"

That didn't sound like Clifton. No, he'd seen Clif in town, outside the cobbler's looking at boots. Someone else, then, someone who hadn't been there long enough to recognize anyone by voice. "Mustadio," he said. "If you're going to shoot me, be done with it. It would be the perfect end to the day I've had."

"Oh." A different tone of voice. "Where is Ser Ramza? I thought you'd gone into town with him and Lady Agrias."

"I left. They stayed. Are you going to let me in or not?"

"Um. Right. Come forward, then." 

The man took a few steps back as Mustadio stepped forward until both of them were in the circle of light around the campfire. Some thoughtful person had dragged a few fallen logs close enough to the fire to be used as benches, and Mustadio found one to slouch down on before looking up to find who'd been pointing a crossbow at him.

It took him a moment to recognize the man sitting across the fire: it wasn't the dark skin or a mage's spell-chapped hands, but the intense expression, as if he were about to go into battle with every breath. He'd last seen him standing atop the crenelated walls of Riovanes castle, shouting down at Ramza. Marchen? Something like that. Rapha's older brother. 

Up close, and no longer haloed by dark, crackling energy, the man was smaller-- slender rather than broad, as most mages were. He shared his sister's dark hair and eyes, brown skin turned to gold in the firelight. The crossbow across his lap looked awkward in his mage's hands, but it was an easier and faster weapon than his magic, if it was anything like his sister's wild, random chants. 

And he was still staring. Mustadio felt the few words they'd exchanged could definitely be improved upon. So. "Your sister went into town along with the others," he said. "You didn't want to accompany her?"

"We're still close enough to Riovanes that my face would be known in town," the man said. "It's better that I'm not seen. Besides, someone must stay behind to look after the pack chocobos and the rest of our gear." A pause, and then: "Forgive me. But can you pronounce your name again for me?"

"Mus-ta-di-o. It was my grandfather's name. And your name was, er?"

"Marach."

"Marach," Mustadio repeated, trying to fix the name in his mind. 

"I know it's not common. I was raised at Riovanes; the name rings foreign even to me. But it is what I have."

"No, it's a good name. 'Mustadio' is old-fashioned, so it's not very common either. Not for anyone under eighty years old, at least." He was relieved when those dark eyes turned towards the fire instead of scrutinizing him any longer. "I, uh-- you--" What did one say to someone who was only a few days past trying to kill you? Finally, he settled on: "I think I'm gladder than anyone to be away from Riovanes for good."

"No more glad than I," Marach said, and actually laughed. "I'll always be happy to walk away from a place that was nearly my grave."

"We're always running away from something or running toward something," Mustadio said. "It was kind of Ramza to allow us a bit of peace here before we move on. Nothing like a busy tavern and a cold ale to get some of the grit out of your gears."

"And yet you did not stay." Marach looked up at him again. "May I ask why?"

Mustadio kept his eyes on the fire, dancing gold and red and sending sparks spiraling high above the camp. Agrias' hair had glints of red in it, when she stood in the sun. It looked best, he thought, when it had come loose from its braid, the breeze teasing loose strands forward to frame her face. When he'd first laid eyes on her, he'd thought she was an angel-- the sort of angel that carried a claymore and rained divine wrath down on unrepentant sinners.

She'd looked at him and said, "I shall cherish it, as I cherish our friendship."

He'd have rather she put a blade in his heart.

"I..." Mustadio swallowed, then tried a laugh that sounded false even to him. "I had a bit of coin, but I spent it all on trinkets even before Ramza and I found the tavern. Such a place is noisy and rowdy when not tempered by alcohol, so I thought I'd seek a quieter place to spend the night."

"I see." Marach's eyebrows drew together a little, but he didn't push it further. "Well, it's quiet enough out here. Other than you, I've only had to chase away rabbits and suicidal moths." Carefully, "It's good to have a bit of company."

Mustadio managed a grin. "Being a deadly assassin and wielder of dangerous and unpredictable magicks, I bet you haven't had time for a good game of dice in a while."

Marach shook his head. "I've never played."

"Now's the time to learn, then, since the war might see us all to our maker's gates soon, and everyone knows Saint Ajora doesn't allow gambling in heaven." Mustadio reached into his pocket. "Come here and sit beside me. I'll teach you well enough to fleece Ser Beoulve when he returns, if he's any coin left."

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on Tumblr @cyberphuck!


End file.
